In Will's Place
by Fee-o-Verte
Summary: Or how a little foreknowledge can change the whole tale. Basically an OC-Insert with (mostly bad) luck.


He did not know where he was. The buildings were narrow, but tall, made from stone, brick and wood. It reeked, the ground, the street was muddy. The sky was dark, it wasn't night, but was it early morning or late evening? He smelled the sea, he had to be in a coastal town, but which big modern city didn't have cars? Which city still had open sewers? Where was he? And when?

"Move, street rat." cried a filthy man. He had a red face and was very big, and led an oxcart loaded with something that smelled foul. Why was he so big?

"It's useless. This one has been standing there for a long time, he's simple or stupid." was the advice from one from the crowd, he didn't see from whom. "We already called the guards." Guards? No. That was not good.

Startled, he started to run. He was small - why were all the others so big? -So he was able to squeeze through the crowd. He ran, not knowing where. Just going away, seeing guards was not good. His stomach tightened painfully, if he even just thought about the guards. His thought faltered. He did not know any guards, guards didn't even exist anymore. There were policemen.

He shook his head and stood still while breathing heavily. Here it was calm. The houses were a bit bigger. It smelled a bit better, and he heard water pattering. There had to be a fountain nearby. Soon he found the fountain, the water was cool and clear, tasted and smelled like nothing. Therefor it was drinkable. But what did it matter, when water was not colourless, odourless and tasteless. He had been drinking such water his whole life and nothing happened so far. No! His water had been always like this one, good and fresh from the tap. Or from a bottle.

But wat was he thinking, where was he, who was he. He felt like his eyes burned, he wanted to cry. He drank until his thirst was quenched. That was important. Only afterwards he looked at his reflection in the water, he wanted to know who he was, maybe his reflection would help him. It was already dawning, he was able to see himself a little. He was so filthy like the city and the other people around him. He was small, that he knew, and he looked young. That was curious, he had thought he was an adult, but the child, that looked at him was maybe four, maybe younger.

What had happened to him? Why was he not at home anymore? Why could he not remember his name, his family? Everybody had a family and a name, that he knew. But as much as he tried, he could not remember his own.

Deep breaths. That calms, then he would be able to think. And with thinking, logical considerations he would find the answers. Maybe all of this was only an nightmare. It's no use, he wasn't able to calm himself. He wanted to cry, to shout, to inform the world of his misfortune. But he was an adult, not a small child anymore, he was going to pull himself together. Think logically. For that he had to observe his environment. Surely, he had landed somehow in a middle age festival.

He looked around. In the meantime the day had arrived, soon the sun would rise. He was in a square, on a hill, from where he saw the sea and didn't just smell it. The city had a big harbour with many sailing-ships. But not modern sailing boats who were used for sport, instead those ships in the harbour were old ships made out of wood with sails. They were briskly loaded and unloaded by workers. There, on the other side of the city, on a hill, was a big castle made from a reddish stone. It was very big. He didn't know people had built castles as large as that one, or that they could have had as many towers as the red one. Now the wind blew just so, he was able to see the flags. A red dot on a black field? Oh fuck, no! A red three-headed dragon on a black field. Fuck, fuck, fuck! He didn't want to be in Westeros. That was dangerous, this world was dangerous. It had to be a dream.

* * *

It wasn't a dream. He had already been here for four days. For three nights he slept where ever he deemed it safe. Every night he hoped he would wake up in a bed the next morning, in a body he knew. On three mornings he woke up disappointed, exactly where he went to sleep. On four days he explored King's Landing. He had not eaten for at least four days. He still drank from that one fountain, which he discovered the first day. But that was alright, the human body could go on for weeks without any food. Clean water was more important.

Luckily the thoughts - that were not his and had confused him - disappeared on the first day. Those were not his thoughts, he knew it, they had to be those of the child which he now inhabited. Every time, when such a thought had appeared, he had felt terrible. But everything that remained after the disappearance was a diffuse knowledge of the world in which the child grew up. Not much, as it had been a child, even if it had to survive alone in the gutters and streets of King's Landing, it had been a child.

He didn't know who was the king, not which year it was. (Not that the year would have helped him.) But he knew which parts of the city were too dangerous for a child, which bands to avoid. He knew that life had gotten more difficult, that people had less money to spare for a begging child.

And this evening the city was stranger than normally. The quarter where the rich lived normally had been vacated some time ago. This was the reason why nobody ever bothered him when he drank from their fountain, from their water. But today all ships had set sail, the fleet and the merchant ships. There had been no market in the morning. He was afraid. Maybe he should go away too? Maybe if the sneaked by the Guards at the gates? But that sounded so dangerous, and surely much too difficult for him.

Here, in a quarter full of humans he would hopefully be safe. Unseen in the middle of a crowd he felt much better than alone in an abandoned quarter. The people were acting strange here too, maybe they too would go soon? He had found a dry place to sleep in. On the roof of a low house where the roof of another house created a small cave. Here he could sleep.

* * *

He woke up because of the screams. He looked out on the street, where bodies piled up high. The blood coloured the mud red. Houses were burning, the smoke scratched in his throat, his eyes watered and itched. Men in armour walked around, they dragged people on the streets to kill them there. There, there a woman was being raped. He wanted to scream, but he had to be silent, if they heard him they would discover him.

A flag, a golden lion on a red field. The Lannister. It was the Lannister. The sack of King's Landing. The rebellion, which would seat Robert Baratheon on the Iron Throne. - Damned be whatever had brought him here. - The fire was near him already, the soldiers, he had to go somewhere else. He crawled backwards as silent and careful as he could until he could not see the soldiers on the streets anymore. The screams got louder. Only then he turned and looked down in the backyard. No soldiers. He climbed down. Where should he go?

Then he heard voices, the blood froze in his veins. There was no cover, no barrels, no crates or something else. The doors were all closed and he would never be able to climb back in time. His hands became cold. There, a pile of bodies, he ran over. He dipped both hands in the blood. Oh, it was so much blood. - So much warm human blood. - He smeared as much blood in his face and on his body as he could. Then he crawled into the pile. - It was warm. It reeked of blood. He tried to feign death. Only shallow breaths, not moving at all. Please, gods or demons, please, I don't want to die. He was rigid and silent. - The voices had gone away, but new ones were coming again, and again...

He didn't know how much time had passed. There were no new voices anymore. He hadn't heard any screams since some time. It was dark, all fires had gone out. Suddenly he had to hurry. He crawled - ran - away from the pile. He had to go away. Then he threw up, but only stomach acid. When he was finished, he began to shake. - He had to eat, he needed new clothes, needed money.

Don't think about that what happened. Think logically, don't remember.

There wasn't anyone in the houses at the moment, this was his opportunity. He knew where the boy, who laid beside him in the pile, had lived. His clothes had not been new, but they were cared for and made sturdy. The house was very near from here, he would be able to do it.

He had found the house easily, it had not burned down, which was good. On the ground floor he found water and rags. He undressed and washed himself as well as he could. When he wasn't red from blood but from the scrubbing, he searched new clothes. On the first floor, in a small chamber, he found what he had been looking for. Three tunics over each other, one pant, shoes which he didn't put on. He filled a bag full of long lasting foods, while he first ate an apple then as much bread as he could. Some legumes, not more than he would be able to eat in the next week. When he saw the dried meat, when he smelled it, he began to feel nauseous.

But he needed it, he needed the clothes, the food from dead people. From people he had observed only some hours prior. People who were dead now. Needed the protein from the meat. Thus, he took it.

That would not help him for long, he needed money. He searched a clean cloth and ripped it into two long stripes. Folded twice they were narrower, he tied them around his belly. Then he sneaked out of the house, and began to search through the money bags from the bodies. The first money bag he took. The copper coins went into it. The silver coins he tucked into one of the cloth belts around his belly. He flinched at every sound, his hands and feet became bloody again.

In this street nobody had golden coins. But he knew where he could find some. When he arrived in that part of the quarter, where the richer families had lived, he found the soldiers again. They were searching the bodies and houses systematically. Everything valuable they took. Then they carried the bodies away. A lord, with his own coat of arms, who sat on a horse, observed them, most likely to prevent the soldiers stealing something.

The second cloth belt stayed empty. He went to his fountain. There he washed himself again. He counted the coins. Almost two hundred copper coins and 24 silver ones, 9 silver stags and 15 silver moons. Here he would wait until the people came back. When they were back he would be safe again.

The morning was silent. There were regular patrols. They never discovered him, He washed himself several times in the day. He ate a little. But he couldn't swallow even one mouthful of meat. His sleep was fitful. He woke up all the time and trembled. It had become cool. And very silent.

To distract himself he tried to find a name for himself. Eddard, Joffrey, Karl, Jan, Robb, Tom, nothing quite fit. Alex however was good, it fit somehow. But was Alex even a name in Westeros? Whatever, the most important thing was that he had a name he liked. After Alex had decided on his name he became agitated again.

Finally, Alex couldn't endure any more, he had to take a bath, it wasn't sufficient to only wash himself with water from a fountain, that didn't clean him enough. The houses stood empty and he had already stolen things from dead people, a break-in wouldn't make a difference. In one of the many houses around the square he found an empty tub, soap and a bucket. He filled the bath, the water was cold, but it didn't bother him. He washed himself for a long time and very thorough.

After the bath Alex wandered around in the house without an aim, in one bedroom the found a handheld mirror made from pale and polished bronze. He looked into it. Alex startled and brought up his hand to his mouth to supress the cry that was threatening to erupt. He laid down the mirror and used the free hand to grab one lock of his hair to pull at it, he wanted to see his hair. What he had seen in the mirror was true. His hair was not blond, like he had thought, but white. The silvery hair the Targaryens were famous for was his hair too. And his eyes looked violet in the mirror, but his hair looked a bit darker in the mirror, he assumed that his eyes were more likely to be - rose.

Alex began to panic. Robert Baratheon wanted to kill all Targaryens, he could remember that much. What should he do? Nobody could see him, he would die if they did. But somebody would, later or sooner, then they would kill him. Unless... the boy who could be Aegon, he dyed his hair, did he not? Alex could dye his hair too. That could be the solution to his problem, he could even use a colour which would help him to hide his eyes. But which colour did that, and where would he find the dye?

In the evening Alex could not sleep for a long time, instead he brooded, just because he had fair hair didn't mean that he was a bastard of a Targaryen. There were no known bastards from Aerys, or just noble half Lannister ones, Rhaegar only had children with Elia Martell (and Lyanna Stark if you believed in the theories) and Viserys was too young to have fathered children already. But there were other houses and even whole cities, where everyone looked like the Targaryens did. King's Landing was a port city, many men would come here and sire children here. Many women would come here and have children here. He could not be a Targaryen, he was surely the child of another family, if his parents even belonged to a known family at all. He was alone, nobody knew him, nobody would ever see him with his natural hair colour. He was safe.

After a search that lasted half the night, it was safest to go out shortly before dawn, Alex found the house of a dye merchant, or a person who collected them. He decided on a brilliant green, which was the complementary colour of rosy tones, hopefully his eyes would stand out less with green. Green, the colour of hope and spring, would not be too strange, he hoped. Somewhere in the North there was a girl with green hair, he knew that. Alex took the whole bag with the green powder with him. He had no problem during the dyeing process of his hair and eyebrows, he even managed to not dye his scalp green. Afterwards he looked into the mirror again. He looked eye catching, not because he looked like a member of the overthrown ruling family, but because his hair was almost glowingly green.

During the next night Alex searched for fine earth, which he used to make himself dirty, nobody looked clean other than nobles, rich artisans or merchants, and not even all of them looked clean.

* * *

Time went by, the patrols of the soldiers stopped when the gates opened again, and all the people who had managed or wanted to flee came back. New Guards began to control and guard the streets. Alex still sneaked around, his stash of food was not used up. He didn't sleep well.

One day, maybe a month after the massacre, Alex heard a rumour in the marketplace. The orphanage was apparently being supported heavily by the new king, who wasn't in the city yet, now they were able to take in more orphans. That there was a orphanage, he hadn't known, but where could it be?

After Alex searched until evening without result, he approached one of the Guardsmen, who looked friendly, was not alone, and near a group of women.

"Excuse me, do you know where the orphanage is?" Alex asked quietly.

"Your parents died in the war?" answered the Guardsman.

"Yes, my father died in it. My mother was already dead by then." lied Alex. "Now I don't have anyone, but I thought that here in King's Landing there may be an orphanage. That's why I came here."

"You are lucky. Very lucky. There is indeed an orphanage with free space. Come with me." The Guard told his colleagues what he would be doing, and led Alex to the orphanage.

It was in the street that went to the Red Keep. The orphanage was obviously a prestige project, a place where the royal family could celebrate their benevolence and generosity in the open. Alex liked it that way, because it meant, that people were watching the orphanage and it would stand out if something went terribly wrong. The orphanage was big, there were at least 60 children who lived there. Alex felt alien. He felt older than the oldest of the orphans living in the orphanage. It had not been attacked during the Sack, the conquerors had ignored it, the loss of face would have been to big if something happened to it. These children had grown up as orphans in Westeros, but they were still very different from Alex.

Maybe they were different exactly because they only knew Westeros, other than Alex, who knew so much more. He didn't find any friends. But he found children he trusted to ask questions. There was Millie, who was one and five already. She was betrothed, and would be marry him shortly after her next nameday. All children had to leave the orphanage when they were one and six, or sixteen as Alex would have said in his old life. From there on the orphans had to look after themselves. When Alex had a question about the norms of this new society he went to Millie. Paya was the daughter of a dead prostitute, she had many tips for Alex on how to better dye his hair. Robin was good with stealing things. Ben too was older, and begun a apprenticeship under the new Guards, he showed Alex everything he learnt.

There were no schools in Westeros, the children had to word instead. The orphanage looked that the work was not too strenuous and that the children had the opportunity to learn something from it. They hoped that the boys would decide early on for one apprenticeship and then leave. The girls should learn everything they needed to find a husband and managing a household. Those who didn't comply were cast out very easily. As far as Alex knew they had to go into one of the religious orders of the local church. They supported the orphanage too.

A priest or a sister came regularly to the orphanage to read to them from their holy book. Alex seated himself out of curiosity right next to the sister when they came the first time after he joined the orphanage. He wanted to know how they wrote in Westeros. - Shocked he had stared at the Roman alphabet. He had tried to read the text as the sister spoke, but he wasn't able to understand what was written. It was just like in the modern world, just because there was an e, didn't mean that the different languages used different pronunciations. But he was learning. He learned a little more with every visit. He needed years, but when he was almost 16, he was able to write and read fluently. He had not become more trusting, which meant nobody knew that he could.

* * *

Alex had grown out his hair, so that they covered his eyes. The more protection the better. His nightmares had not gotten better. They reminded him constantly how unsafe his new world was. Alex would give anything to be safe, but the was in Westeros. The place everybody died, and nobody was safe. He had gotten pretty good with cursing and swearing in the meantime.

* * *

One thing Alex did not know, was what he should do after he had to leave the orphanage. Artisan, Guard, that didn't interest him at all. His preference would be to study at the Citadel, but you needed money to do that. And Alex didn't have a rich benefactor nor a rich family. To find something to do he had taken to stroll around the city in his free time. One morning, he found a crowd before one man, whose clothes were all black.

Alex froze, when he heard someone from the crowd say: "... don't know why the Night's Watch still searches for volunteers. Nobody wants to go into the frozen hell, which the North is." The Night's Watch, the North, the Wall, the White Walkers and their undead army.

Alex's knowledge about the story he had landed in was unclear. When he thought about died hair, he remembered some character, who had died hair in the books. But even when the signs were clear, that the Sack of King's Landing was coming soon, he hadn't known until it was happening. He knew that there was a big threath for humanity somewhere North, if you believed some theories. But only now, with the input from a Brother of the Night's Watch and the talk of the crowd, he remembered it. During his musings and while he began to fear what was to come, the Brother had stopped talking and was already walking away. Probably resigned, because nobody from King's Landing wanted to go North, if they had even the smallest chance of living somewhere else. But Alex, Alex knew what was coming, knew what he had to do, where he was needed the most.

"Stop." he cried. "I would like to join the Night's Watch."

"You?", the Brother asked, "What does a green boy without experience want with us? You just look like you would run away after the first frost. That is, if you even are a boy and not a girl."

"I am a man." Alex answered indignant. "And I can learn. I don't have any family. Nobody who keeps me here. I want to serve with you."

The Night's Watchmen looked at him like he had lost his head. Then he smiled, but it wasn't a nice smile. "Good if you have enough courage and if this isn't a bet... In three days I'm going to be at the North Gate. Then I'm going."

"I will be there." Alex promised him. "What is your name?" He asked right afterwards.

"Yoren. Lordling, boy, if you really are going to come North - try - try making yourself less noticeable. There are many men at the Wall, who come directly from the dungeons and who don't regret their deeds." the Brother advised.

Alex blushed, his appearance had become a sore spot after the almost constant teasing from the other orphans. He managed to say a thank you, turned and walked away fast. Try to make himself inconspicuous, that was said so easily, but how could Alex do that? He did not know from whom, but one of his parents had given him a tall but lean body. And as often as people thought he was a girl, he must look rather good (not pretty, never pretty). Alex knew why Yoren had given him that advice. There were many rapists at the Wall, and they could be dangerous for him. Nevertheless, he would go there.

But how? Maybe if Alex dyed his hair in a less noticeably colour? That was a good first step, but that wouldn't change his face. Because a different hair colour was the only thing he could think of, he wanted to start there.

* * *

Paya was at the orphanage, and had some time, he was able to speak with her. He told her about his plans to go North and join the Night's Watch. She thought at first that it was a joke, until he asked her to find a truly horrible hair colour, so that he could hide himself.

"You are mad." she told him without pause when they died his hair a dull brown.

"Oh, come on, it will make place for a new orphan who can enjoy the fun of this house." Alex said when he had had enough.

"They don't take in new orphans. They have to save money. The King has to save money." she answered.

"But they have so many feasts." Alex was shocked. "Only some time ago, Ser Jaime Lannister won ten thousand gold dragons at a joust."

Paya snorted. "Oh, the King doesn't save on his amusements, but the Small Council saves money from him everywhere else."

Ales grimaced, that wasn't going to make a difference, he thought to himself, didn't the Crown have debt worth millions of gold dragons at the beginning of the books?

* * *

On the same day he talked with the management of the orphanage. Alex saw that they too thought him to be mad, but they faked understanding and support. Now the planning could begin in earnest. He had to say goodbye to his colleagues, he had to buy enough dye for his hair, so it would last to the Wall and to his swearing-in as a Brother of the Night's Watch. Alex didn't know if he would be able to get more in the North.

There was a Targaryen at the Wall, so the King would not kill him there, when the dye washed out (which happened annoyingly fast) and his hair gave away it's natural colour. He still had to find a way to appear much uglier than he was. He could hide his face behind cloth? Why not. At least he could look around on the cloth market, maybe he would find an idea there.

* * *

The cloth market was one of the most beautiful markets of the city. No food was sold, so it didn't stink, and it was rare to so many colours in the city. Alex strolled through the market in search of a miracle. Then he passed a stand for leather goods. And saw them. The Frey caps. They were truly horrible things, and every Frey would be ten times better off, if they just burned all their ugly caps. Really, who wore these things voluntarily?

"Good sir, these caps will serve you well, keeping your ears warm and your head dry." The salesman tried to sell the caps to Alex. Alex was about to go away and finally reach the cheaper cloth merchants, when he thought about his goal in this market. He wanted to appear ugly, and here he had a cap that made everyone seem idiotic and ugly. He had found his miracle, but frankly, he didn't like it. Alex had a bad feeling about everything that concerned the Frey family (but he had no idea why).

"Do you have a cheap hat lined with fur?" he asked the salesman.

"My dear sir, all these caps are cheap." the salesman replied with a grimace. And so Alex became the owner of two black Frey caps, which actually did keep his ears very warm.

* * *

After Alex had done all his shopping (he had still most of the money he had stolen from those corpses, and consequently, he still woke up tormented by horror images) and after he had said goodbye to everyone, he arrived at the north gate some time before sunrise on the right day.

A short time later Yoren also came, and together with him, in a cage on a cart, another man. Behind Yoren ran some boys, who looked like they came directly from Flea Bottom. Yeah, Alex even saw some gang symbols. In Flea Bottom there was an orphanage of its own, but its reputation was, well, the children preferred to go to gangs rather than there.

"You came. I didn't believe you would. And you took my advice to heart, too, good. I almost didn't recognize you." Yoren paused. "But, I still need your name."

"My name's Alex, no last name."

* * *

Alex woke up trembling. It was not only the coldness of the north that caused him problems, but also the images that were haunting his head. The screams, the pile, blood on his hands and feet. He took a deep breath to calm himself down. Today, today, they would arrive at the wall. The group had left King's Landing five weeks ago and had grown rapidly since then. Now they were 17 recruits for the Night's Watch - most of them involuntarily.

Alex constantly watched the men as inconspicuously as he could, and paranoia became a good friend. Did anyone stare? Did that guy over there know anything?

In the beginning of his stay at the orphanage Alex had had such a phase too, but never to this extent. The danger was also much more acute now, the chances that an orphan would have known the meaning of white hair and would have told an adult had been small. But here... Here he would train, eat and serve with criminals. Maybe even live in a room with them.

* * *

The training was hard, it was cold, and the wall in the drizzle not very nice.

* * *

"Are you sure a greenhorn like you, is in the right place here?"

"Summer kid, go away! The wildlings will eat you up as soon as you're on the other side."

"Though you are good with the sword and the bow, it is of no use to you when the cold comes. Go back south, Andal."

Time passed.

"You're always so private. Are you scared? Scared rabbits don't belong here."

"Looks like a gust of wind can knock you down. And you look like a woman with your long hair and your lips. Pff."

* * *

"Lord Commander, Brother Stark, you wanted to see me?" Alex asked. The Lord Commander had asked him to come and see Benjen Stark. He didn't know what they wanted from him, but hopefully they finally allowed him to swear the oath. All those who came to the wall with him were already sworn members of the Night's Watch.

"Yes." The Lord Commander said. "There have been complaints about you."

"Not that you did something." Benjen Stark immediately calmed him down. "But many people think you're not made for the Night's Watch duty. We're not sure either. That's why we have a proposal for you." He continued.

The Lord Commander took over again. "You're going north on a tour. If you survive this and still want to stay here, you'll be allowed to take the oath."

Alex swallowed up his anger, at least they gave him a chance, not like so many others at the wall. He lowered his head. "Good. When does the trip start?"

* * *

Shit, why did such things keep happening to Alex? All the signs were there: three men of the guard, one named Will was supposed to go with them (but did not because of Alex), the new and already sworn-in lordling as the leader, the pursuit of raiding wildlings…

So what had to happen, happened. And Alex only remembered the importance of those details from the book when he looked into the face of a white walker after his two comrades had been killed. No wonder that Will fled in the book, for the people of this world such a different creature as a white walker had to look terrible.

But they didn't look as Alex had imagined them, not as they were depicted in the tv-series, not like the images of them in fanart, not even like Jotuns from the Marvel films, and definitely not like humans.

They were about the same size as humans, they had two arms, two legs and a head. And fur, a dense grey-white shiny fur coat. Big dark eyes. They had some similarities to polar bears, and snow bunnies (or probably any creature living naturally very far north or south). Not ugly, but not pretty either.

Their voices sounded like the result of vocal chords, but the language was completely incomprehensible. They laughed, showed their impressive teeth...

And left without attacking, killing or hurting him. What had happened here? Frozen in place, Alex stared at them, why did they leave him alive?

Not that Alex would survive long, his companions were both dead, and they didn't trust him at the wall anyway. If he showed up without them, they'd kill him. At least he had not yet sworn the oath, otherwise he would be decapitated as a deserter if he fled. Should he? Maybe go back to King's Landing, the city was so huge, surely, he would never meet someone who shouldn't see him. Or he could go further away…

Alex heard something, so he turned quickly around. Were the White Walkers back? No, it was an undead child, the little wildling with the long hair that was stuck on a tree in episode one. Alex breathed a sigh of relief, that was his chance. If he could take the kid with him, he'd have proof for the Lord Commander, proof that he was innocent. But that was also something Lord Stark had to see, and he was in Winterfell. Maybe if he sent a message to Castle Black and then travelled directly to Winterfell?

* * *

A large group of riders approached them. The backup was here. Days before Alex a patrol had caught him. Alex had been at the end of his mental and physical powers. He had been so happy to see other living people, he could have cried tears of joy. They had left three men with him, to guard him and the obviously undead girl.

A man who looked like Benjen Stark led the riders. That must be Lord Stark, Alex thought. Behind him came several boys, Robb and Jon and Theon maybe, and many, many riders.

"Milord." The guards greeted their lord.

"Lord Stark." Alex greeted him as he bowed. The lord nodded to them, looking very stern. Alex was unsure what his future would hold. He didn't want to be beheaded. He wasn't a deserter, he hadn't sworn an oath!

Lord Stark waved for someone. From further back in the train, three men came forwardThe three men were the Lord Commander, Benjen Stark, and someone Alex didn't recognize. Alex had to prove to them that he hadn't killed his companions. When they see the girl, they'll know. Alex would be safe.

One of his guards started talking. "Milord, the girl is here." They lifted the plank up that was over the hole in the ground in which the girl lay. Daylight lit up what was inside. The stench of mould and rot spread. The girl was still only half decomposed. The eyes still looked fresh and glowed in an unnatural blue. As soon as she noticed that there were living bodies in her vicinity, she began to move wildly. She snatched her teeth and tried to reach for people with her hands.

Alex heard scared cries and prayers from the riders.

Alex glanced curiously at the Warden of the North. Lord Stark's look had become even darker. He closed his eyes, looked to the horizon, then grasped himself and said: "Men of the North, as you see, we have a lot to do."


End file.
